Thom Ascoates, a reclusive figure who lost the top most area of his head in an horrendous Bison baiting accident (leaving him with a meagre one fifth of his original brain matter, but a curious power in the art of poetry) delivered us this succinct snippet of prose:

"At one time, all I had to fear was Fear itself. Now, thanks to my Man-melter, even that Fear is gone, vaporized into a small but steaming pool of green-blue efflorescence, smelling somewhat of stale curtains."